Page 35 of Wild Devil

Could I be hearing the people in the basement?

It feels like an unlikely scenario at first—but then I remember our old house and how Hale and I used to pretend to be ghosts, whispering messages to each other using the vents. From the bottom level in the sunroom, he could hear me all the way in his room, a story above.

After a tense few moments of silence, a heavy sigh of relief echoes, followed by terse shushing. Tentatively, I decide to call out, “Hello?”

Silence greets me in return. I can’t even hear so much as an intake of air. My cheeks flame. Already, I’ve gone insane, forced to speak to the shadows if only to distract from the state my life is currently in. Then I hear a set of footsteps approaching from the hall, too suddenly to have come from the stairs.

Shit!

As I begin to rise, a faint sound reaches my ears. “Is someone there?”

In the blink of an eye, the doorknob turns, and I’m still on my knees when the door itself swings open to reveal a smirking Colton.

In contrast to my black gown, he’s dressed in a pure-white tux. How cliché. I’m sure he and my father snickered over the juxtaposition—his innocent visage paired with mine, woefully corrupted.

Ironically, even as haggard as I appear, I think Colton looks worse, like a fanciful caricature of his former self. Or, what an innocent fool might imagine a nice, wholesome man to be. Almost like he’s playing dress up with someone else’s clothes.

There will never be a day when I won’t marvel at how easily he and my father fall into their new roles as villains. My entire life has been filtered through rose-colored glasses. As I sleepwalked through my past life, what else had I missed?

After looking me up and down with narrowed eyes, Colton declares, “You look God awful, Frances. I thought Catherine might be able to do something with your face. Apparently not.”

His disapproval means nothing to me. Still, I can’t stop myself from self-consciously brushing a hand along my cheek. As soon as I realize, I stop myself and keep my head held high. I am not ashamed of the bruises and injuries I’ve acquired over the past few weeks. Scars and all, they should be worn as badges of honor.

I can’t ignore the little voice in my head that wonders what Daze will think of me, though. If I ever see him again…

“I thought I should meet with you before the ceremony just in case you had any delusions of grandeur. Tonight, your father no longer holds any dominion over you, Frances Heywood. You will belong to me. Body and soul.”

I dislike the way he uttered the last three words. As his eyes rake over me with way too much familiarity, I step back. My hand flies to the cuff of my sleeve, hunting the razor blade hidden there, just beneath the satin and lace. I don’t withdraw it. Yet.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be coy, Frances,” Colton snarls, stepping forward. “I’m sure you gave more than a glimpse of your body to that biker motherfucker. Didn’t you?” He grabs my wrist, jerking me forward.

Panic darts through my system, but I fight to keep my head clear, even as his breath fans over my face. Don’t panic. Breathe, Frey. You can handle this.

But if I pull it out now, there goes my entire leverage. Until I’m certain I can escape, I need to stall.

“You never brought me here,” I say, hoping to distract him. “Where are we exactly? Is this one of your family’s properties?—”

“Don’t!” Without warning, he reaches out and grabs my throat. Though my eyes bulge, I don’t resist. I’m already trying to work the razor blade free when he loosens his hold.

“Don’t think you can play sweet and coy with me, Frances,” he growls, his teeth bared. “Not after the humiliation you put me through. I loved you once. I thought you to be a worthy woman to marry. I used to imagine the sort of children we would have, hopefully with your beautiful eyes. But now I see that any children born of you will be as corrupted with evil as you are. If they aren’t purified first. Only the hand of a stern father can prevent such a devious nature from festering and spreading. But don’t worry, Frances—” He grabs my chin and yanks my face within inches of his. “I fully intend to make sure that you embody the good, God-fearing woman you used to be. And more. You will grow to love me, I’m sure of it. And I fully intend to take advantage of your wifely duties…” I see his arm move and tense even before I feel him touching me—his other hand bunches handfuls of my skirt, lifting it...

Thinking fast, I entwine our fingers together, pulling his hand away.

“If you loved me, you would have told me the truth from the start,” I say, trying and failing to make my voice a simpering mockery of how I used to sound. Weak. Passive. He draws his eyebrows together, his skepticism evident, but to my surprise, he relaxes into my grasp. “I only turned to someone else because I felt alone. I was so lost in grief after Hale. It seemed like no one else cared.”

He stares into my eyes for a long moment. Then he squeezes my hand so hard I gasp.

“It was your duty to be patient,” he warns. “Said attribute is a virtue, after all. You should have been silent by my side and trusted that your father and I knew best. That it would all be for the greater good. You shouldn’t have given yourself away to some miscreant like a harlot at the first sign of doubt! And if you truly knew what your father and I had in store, there is no telling what you might do…”

“I would have trusted you,” I lie. As if the words physically hurt, the inside of my cheek smarts, and every bruise I sport begins to ache tenfold. “I would have known that you were being honest with me. That’s also a virtue.”

He tenses his shoulder again, and I’m certain he’ll hit me. The fact that he doesn’t move brings little comfort. The look in his eye promises only malice. Retribution.

“You think you’re so damn smart. Fine. Then why don’t you tell me what that degenerate you fucked had to say. Or did you even get as far as talking before you offered yourself to him on a silver platter?”

I fight to keep my anger at bay. He wants me riled and liable to slip up. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“He told me that Hale didn’t kill himself,” I say, watching his reaction carefully. “He told me that I couldn’t trust anyone.”

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